


To Stop the Clock

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, More characters as they show up, and because P.I. Cas is the cutest thing, based somewhat on the Remy Chandler novels, literally angel columbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-01 14:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angel Castiel left Heaven a long time ago, disillusioned and disappointed, and has spent millennia on Earth -- he's now quite happy with his relatively normal life as Cas Novak, private detective. But when part-time mechanic and full-time asshole with a drinking problem Dean Winchester turns up at his office with what seems like a normal case, things start to become much closer to his old life than Cas ever really wanted to be again. Now it's he and Dean in a race against time to find Dean's younger brother -- before a disaster the likes of which neither Heaven nor Earth have ever seen begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The fic is sorta based on the Remy Chandler novels by Thomas E. Sniegoski, and also sorta my original work (which is similar to SPN in the first place so it's a weird cycle). Possibly a series, we'll see where the story goes because I literally just have a vague idea of what I want to do, so.

**Millennia ago, after the War in Heaven --**  

The flutter of wings alerted Castiel to the presence of one of his brothers, and he turned to see Balthazar landing beside him lightly. The other angel folded his emerald green wings and crossed his arms, studying him. Castiel did not respond, returning his gaze to the battlefield before them.

“So, Cassie, you're planning on leaving?” The his friend asked, his tone unchanging from its usual cheer. “And you didn't even bother to tell me. Rude.”

“I'm sorry, Balthazar.” Castiel murmured, turning back to face him. “I...I have to. I can't stay here anymore. It's--”

“No, no, don't explain!” Balthazar flapped a hand at him impatiently. “I get it. I really do. I'd leave too, I would. It'd be fun – us against the world, you know. But...” He looked mournful, but almost teasingly so. “You won't let me, will you?”

“No, of course not.” Castiel agreed solemnly, making his brother roll his eyes. “I couldn't drag you down with me, Balthazar. We're friends. I don't want you to suffer the consequences my actions will bring.”

“What, leaving?” Balthazar protested. “It's not like you're _Falling,_ Cassie! You're just going to live among Father's creations. There's a difference! Why can't those stuffy archangels understand that?"

Castiel stepped forward, putting a hand on Balthazar's shoulder. “Balthazar, quiet. You're close to blasphemy; you know we mustn't speak ill of our brothers.” Balthazar pouted but fell silent, flexing his wings in quiet protest. 

“Again, I'm sorry for this, my friend.” He said softly, eyes the color of the clearest sky firm and intense as they met his friend's own. “But this is something I feel I need to do, and I don't want you to come with me.”

Balthazar sighed, putting his own hand over Castiel's. “I know. I know. It's okay. I'll try to keep our brothers from coming after you for as long as possible, Cassie. But you go, and you take care of yourself. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

“I hope so, too.” He replied, and leaned forward, pressing his cheek to his friend's in a gesture of farewell, before stepping away and turning, spreading wings blue as his eyes wide and taking off. Balthazar stood watching as his friend's silhouette faded into the distance until he could no longer see it.

He sighed. It would be lonely up here without his friend, but he understood why he had to go – he'd seen the faith and the light leave Castiel's eyes as they fought brother against brother, seen him lose the hope he'd always relied on the younger angel to have as the war raged on. The angel had lost everything that had made him special during this war, and if his leaving would bring it back, then Balthazar gave him his warmest blessings.

There was no place for Castiel in Heaven now, both of them knew that – even if he found what he was searching for and was again content, the archangels would never allow him to return after his descent. He'd miss the kid, he really would, but this was for the best.

He hoped Cassie would be okay down there, is all.  


	2. Chapter 1

**To Stop The Clock**

Chapter 1

 

**Present Day  
** **Lawrence, Kansas**

Cas Novak stood in the kitchen of his small, cozy apartment, and made himself a cup of coffee. It was later than he usually tended to get up, closing in on at least noon, but the case he'd just finished had kept him up until almost three in the morning. He felt he deserved a little extra sleep.

As he waited for the coffee to finish brewing, he picked up the daily newspaper and flipped through it. Nothing particularly interesting caught his notice, so he put it back down and leaned against the counter, staring at the window at the overcast May sky.

Millennia ago, he'd arrived here on Earth as the angel Castiel, runaway Seraphim. He'd left Heaven after the war, heartbroken and disillusioned after having to fight and kill his brothers, having to watch them Fall. It had hurt too much, been too much for his idealistic, fragile faith and hope to handle, and he'd felt the only way he could cope was to leave, to live as a human and forget, and maybe one day find what he'd lost.

It had been many, many years since then, and he still hadn't. But life was bearable, pleasant, even. He enjoyed his human persona very much, enjoyed the small Midwest town he lived in, and enjoyed his job.

He was a private detective, running his own little agency out of his apartment home. Lawrence was small, and the worst thing he'd ever had to deal with were runaway teens (he'd just returned Jo Harvelle to her mother last night once again, the sixth time he'd done so) and adulterous couples. People knew him, and people liked him, and he liked helping people, too. It made him feel nice, knowing that he was able to provide comfort and assistance to so many humans. It wasn't filling the hole inside him, no, but it was easing the melancholy he'd felt for so long.

A knock on the door – more like an insistent pounding – jerked him out of his thoughts, and he hurried to the door, wincing as he banged against on a side table, sending it askew. “Coming!” He called, righting the table and heading towards the door, unlocking it quickly and opening it.

A young man stood in the doorway, arms crossed and looking harried and uncomfortable. Tall and a bit scruffy, with pale brown hair and youthful green eyes, he pushed his way in around Cas, standing impatiently in the hall.

“You're Cas Novak, right? The detective?” He asked, and Cas could hear the urgency in his tone.

“Yes, that would be me.” He nodded, studying the young man curiously. He looked familiar, but he couldn't place the face for the life of him. “And you are...?”

“Dean.” He replied. “Name's Dean Winchester.”

Ah. So that's who he was.

The Winchesters were a popular topic of gossip around town, even now. Everyone knew the story. Twenty-two years earlier, the lady of the house, Mary Winchester, had passed away in a house fire. The father, John Winchester, had been arrested for it, and the two children, Dean and Sam (who had been four and six months, respectively) had been taken in by a family friend, Bobby Singer, who ran the local salvage yard. Several years later, though, John's innocence was proven and after his release he'd tried to get his children back – stories were still told about John Winchester being run off the Singer property, Bobby waving his shotgun and shouting that if he ever came back for the boy's, he'd shoot him.

Unfortunately, this didn't end well for Bobby and the boys, because DCF was sent in, and the boys, thirteen and nine at that point, were taken from him and put into foster homes out of state. No one knows about what happened to them after that, but a couple years ago, Dean returned to Lawrence, moving back in with Bobby Singer and working part-time at the salvage yard. It was a story that fascinated Cas – but then again, most gossip fascinated him. There was something so interesting about the darker aspects of human life, and how they still managed to move through it.

Dean seemed to catch Cas staring, because he crossed his arms and glared. “Yeah, I'm _that_ Dean. Feel free to stare your ass off, man, I still ain't going anywhere. I'm here for a reason, you know.”

Cas looked embarrassed. “My apologies, Dean.” He murmured, gesturing for the young man to follow him into the kitchen. “Talk to me, then. What brings you here?”

Dean looked around curiously as he entered Cas's kitchen, before casually flopping down into one of the chairs. His face was serious, and almost nervous, but he leaned forward, eyes set on Cas.

“I need you to find my little brother.”

 

–----------------------------------

“Your little brother?” Cas asked, turning to face him with two mugs of coffee. He set one down in front of Dean, who ignored it, and took a sip from the other. “You mean Samuel?”

“It's Sam.” Dean corrected immediately. “Always been just Sam. And yeah. Him.”

“Can't you just go through the courts?” Cas asked curiously. “You're both legal adults...”

Dean laughed, a bitter bark of amusement that made the former angel wince. “Tried that, man. Not the problem here. I found where he's been livin', all right, found his girl too. He's going to Stanford.” He paused, bitterness easing out of his face to be replaced with pride. “Little guy's studying _law,_ can you believe it? Sammy Winchester, ace attorney.”

Cas couldn't help but smile into his coffee. Despite being separated for years, it seemed like both brothers still loved each other very much. He supposed that was the case with family; no matter how long or far the separation, you still loved them anyway. He sighed softly, thinking about his own family, but pushed that out of his head. Dean needed all his attention at the moment.

“So you went to see him at Stanford?” He asked. “What happened?”

Dean's expression changed again, and he reached out to grip the coffee cup with white-knuckled hands. “He wasn't there. His girlfriend, Jess, said he's been missing for a couple weeks.”

So finding him was more urgent than just looking his address up, then. Cas put his coffee down and pulled out a chair, sitting down and leaning forward, resting his chin on a hand. “Has she called the police?” He asked curiously.

“Nope.” He admitted, face changing again to an expression Cas wished he didn't see. He knew that expression, had dealt with it sporadically across the centuries, and he really hated it. He hated sticking even a hand back into the world he'd left behind, and the expression the elder Winchester brother wore now told of just that same world. It was the expression of someone who'd seen or heard something they couldn't rationally explain, or even irrationally explain. Something so out of left field it shook their entire worldview.

Cas was tempted to say _no, sorry, I can't help you_ almost immediately. No, I’m sorry, I can't help you. I don't want to help. Not this. I don't want to deal with that world again, the few times I’ve had to since I left Heaven were too many. I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester, you've got the wrong man. But then Dean started talking again, and Cas knew he wouldn't be able to say no.

“Y'see, uh...this is gonna sound friggin' crazy, I know. But hear me out.” Dean began. “I'm gonna start with what Jess told me, and then what I saw.” He paused, finally taking a sip of his coffee, and sighing.

“So Sammy and Jess were asleep the night he went missing, right? She told me this was, uh...day or so before his birthday – May second, that's his birthday. So this was like April thirtieth or something.” He licked his lips, concentrating, seemingly trying to remember every detail he'd heard – Cas was slightly impressed. “They were asleep, and some kinda noise woke them up. Sounded like someone was in the house, so Sammy got up to check it out, never came back. Not even a struggle, Jess didn't hear a thing after that, 'cept for some kinda...rushing noise, like a gas leak or exhaust. But Sam never came back upstairs, and Jess went down to look – he was gone. Just...gone. Like he'd just walked right out the damn door and locked it behind him. All Jess found was some gross-smelling yellow powder on the floor, that's it.”

Cas groaned inwardly. Sulfur. That meant demons. _Lovely._ While he was aware not all demons were evil, as not all angels were as pure as he'd like to believe (in fact, he had a few contacts of the demonic persuasion who he'd probably need to get in touch with), they were far more trouble than they're worth. Outwardly, though, he just nodded. “Alright, and what you saw?”

Dean laughed. “What I saw? Man, I don't know what the hell I saw. Woulda thought I was drunk, but I don't get drunk, and I hadn't had anything but a couple bottles of beer besides.” He ran a hand through his short hair, huffing in frustration. “I saw a guy. Looked normal enough, plain lookin' office drone kinda guy, but he was just...watching Sam and Jess' house. Standing under a tree across the way, staring. I went to go outside to chase the creeper off, y'know, but then he just... he grinned at me. He grinned, and his eyes – his eyes went freaking yellow. Like bright neon traffic-light yellow. And then he vanished. Like, I blinked and he was gone, man.” He sighed. “Crazy, ain't it?”

To anyone else, probably. But to Cas, it wasn't. It was, however, bad. Very bad. He sighed heavily, knowing that there was no way he could leave Dean's brother to whatever fate had in store. He was always too compassionate for his own good. He stood, running a hand through his own hair.

“No, not really.” He said. “Who told you to come to me, can I ask?”

Dean shrugged. “That's another weird thing. Your business card just turned up in my pocket. No idea how it got there, never even heard of you before. But figured, hey, 'nother weird thing on the list, might as well give it a shot, right?” He hesitated. “You know what's going on?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Cas replied heavily. “I'll have to make some calls to be sure, but I have a good idea of who might have taken your brother.”

That might have been the wrong thing to say, he realized belatedly, as Dean shot to his feet, the scant few inches between them seeming like feet as the man towered over him, face a mask of righteous fury. “Someone took Sammy?! _Took_ him?!” He snarled. “Right then, you make your damn calls, but then we're getting him back, dammit.”

Cas leaned back, a little startled, and frowned. “Dean, with what we might be facing, perhaps it would be better for you to stay out of--”

“ _No._ ” Dean ground out. “He's my little brother, and I’m supposed to _be there_ for him, so you can take your caution or whatever and shove it up your ass, because I’m gonna be right there with you, goddamnit.”

There seemed like there was going to be no arguing with him, so Cas just sighed and nodded, grabbing a scrap of paper off the fridge and sliding it over. “Leave your number, and I'll call you when I know more, alright?” He told his new client, who just glared at him expectantly. He sighed. “I promise. I'll keep you in the loop.”

“You'd better.” Dean huffed, grabbing a pen off the counter and scribbling down his number, shoving the paper back. “Soon as possible, alright, man?”

“I'll try.”

Dean made his way back to the front door, Cas following right behind him, but stopped as his hand hit the doorknob. He turned back, and Cas could almost see the little kid behind those bright green eyes. “Please. You gotta help me find Sammy.” He begged, and Cas knew right then there was no way in Heaven or Hell he'd be leaving this case alone. Not with the way Dean was looking at him, like he was the man's only hope left in the world.

“I will. I promise, Dean, I will.” He reassured him gently, and Dean nodded. His face hardened, the moment gone, and he left, letting the door fall shut behind him.

Cas stood alone in the hall, staring at the closed door for a long moment, before he sighed, going back to his bedroom to change out of his sweatpants and shirt. He had business to take care of now, and a lot of it.

Sam Winchester had been kidnapped by demons, and so who better to get information from than a demon?


	3. Chapter 2

**To Stop The Clock**

Chapter 1

****Later That Day**   
** **Topeka, Kansas**

The part of town Cas found himself in wasn't one you would classify as the 'good part of town', and really, 'bad' was being a little generous. Not that it was a slum, or anything – it was a poor neighborhood, yes, but leaning heavily towards middle-class. Rather neat, if a bit shabby.

No, the reason it was so bad was because at least ninety percent of the residents weren't human.

They were relatively well-behaved, so Cas wasn't surprised that no one had come by and cleaned the place out yet (not him, of course, it was far from his problem), and it hadn't really changed at all since the last time he'd been there. That had been several years ago, leaning more towards a decade and a half, right before he'd moved to Lawrence.

(It was a large part of the reason he'd moved. To get away from it.)

He really didn't want to be here, but unfortunately, he'd found himself pulling up to a battered apartment building just hours after speaking with Dean Winchester. He was far too nice for his own good, he thought bitterly, as he exited his car, a battered blue '73 Beetle. This is how it happened every time. Someone would come to him with a paranormal case, he'd help even though he didn't want to, things got messy, and after the case he'd flee, not even looking back as he found somewhere else to live.

He liked Lawrence. It would be a shame when he did the same thing this time.

He climbed the steps to the sixth floor, not minding the exercise (the elevator was more often broken than not, he remembered, so he didn't bother trying), and stood on the landing, trying to remember her apartment number. Six-two-one, that was it.

He headed down the hall, feeling doors crack open to watch him as he passed – not many remembered him personally after fifteen years, but they could feel what he was. Some things you couldn't hide, no matter how much you shoved your Grace down inside you.

Pausing in front of the door, he swallowed nervously, not for the first time wondering why he'd come to her, of all people. But he sighed, adjusted his beige trenchcoat with anxious fingers, and knocked.

There was no answer, so he knocked again, this time getting a response.

“What?” A voice called from the other side of the door. “Christ, who the hell is it? I've got lots of busy, busy things to do and if you're here to interrupt me then you can shove whatever you're selling up--”

He smiled faintly at her tirade, able to picture her behind the door, dark hair bouncing as she stormed through the small apartment, and-- he cut his thoughts off there, answering after a moment's hesitation.

“The pizza man.” He felt silly saying it, but it was probably the one thing he knew she'd remember. _(He_ certainly did.)

There was silence after he interrupted her, but then the door swung open wide and she was there, grin wide and pleased like a particularly mischievous cat.

“Clarence!” She said, delighted. “What the fuck! It's been ages, you asshole, come in!”

Without waitnig for his reply, she grabbed his wrist and yanked him in, causing him to stumble into her. She grinned up at him and kissed his cheek, kicking the door shut and slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You never call, you never write...Clarence, I was beginning to think you forgot all about me!” He reddened and shifted, and she laughed, elbowing him in the side. “Nah, just funnin'.” She teased. “You're all cozy up in Lawrence now, I know. How's it going pretending you're a human?”

“Meg...” He protested. “You know--”

She turned, face in a pout. “I know what? I know you're an angel and that's pretty much it, Cas. You don't tell anyone anything, least of all why you up and left after that case. One minute you were here, the next, poof!” She waved a hand for emphasis. “A girl can get her feelings hurt when you do that, babe.”

He looked away guiltily and she sighed. “Stop that. Don't get all pouty on me, it makes me feel bad and I don't like it.”

She walked over to her fridge, pulling out a couple of beers and gesturing to the counter. “Now c'mon, let's talk. Unless you really are just here to see li'l old me again, in which case I will be both surprised and incredibly flattered.”

He managed another small smile, joining Meg at the counter. He had missed her, really, even though he'd tried to cut all ties with this part of his life. She just....she was special.

Her name was Meg Masters, or that was at least what she'd been going by when he met her, and she was a demon. Not any special kind of demon, just your run-of-the-mill footsoldier, Meg worked as an informant and enforcer, whatever paid well. He'd met her while he was in Topeka long before he knew she was a demon (though he wasn't sure how long she'd known he wasn't human either), and while it had started out a simple working relationship between detective and informant, it had...well, not ended that way. In fact, he wasn't really sure if anything _had_ ended between them. There had been a huge fight when he discovered what she really was during his last case here, but that had ended in her bedroom, and she'd still helped him close the case in the end.

He'd left right after that, and this was the first time he'd seen her since. It was nice to know things didn't seem to have changed much, and he took her proffered beer with a smile.

“I'm working on a new case.” He admitted, turning the cold bottle in his hands. She just laughed.

“Knew you couldn't stay away for long, babe.” She said, taking a swig of her own bottle. “Must admit, fifteen years is a damn long time, but hey! You were gonna fall off the no-funny-cases wagon eventually.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, and her face in fists, the picture of childish curiosity. “So spill. I want alllll the juicy deets, 'specially why you're coming to me.”

He sighed, chewing his lip for a moment. “Missing persons.” He began. “A demon's involved, a high-level one, which worries me.”

A dark eyebrow raised. “Oh? I've heard some things on the grapevine, but you're gonna have to be more specific than that. Which demon? Who's the unlucky little shit what got grabbed? Don't hold out on me now, Clarence.”

It was his turn to take a long sip of his beer, more a stalling tactic than anything. At least that meant she really might know something; a tenuous lead was better than nothing.

He lowered the beer, meeting her dark eyes with his own startlingly blue ones.

“Azazel.” 

                                                                                  ---------------------------------------------

 Her reaction was immediate. She stood up, eyes wide, pushing back from the counter with a sharp inhale. He was immediately concerned, watching her move back into the living room, arms wrapped around herself. “Meg?”

“Shh!” She shushed him harshly, lifting her hands to her temples. “Azazel. _Azazel_. That's a name I didn't think I'd hear again.” She sighed, leaning against the side of her couch. “Lovely. So he's the archdemon I've been hearing whispers about. Fucking fantastic.”

Cas' brow furrowed. He knew Meg wasn't on good terms, really, with most other demons, but he hadn't been expecting the intensity of this reaction. He stood, walking over to her and resting his hands on her upper arms. “Are you alright?” He asked, voice soft with concern.

She smiled bitterly up at him, patting his unshaven cheek. “You're so cute when you worry about me, Clarence. It's nice. But i'm fine, promise. Anyway, tell me more. Who's the vic, or whatever you gumshoes call 'em?”

He knew he wasn't going to get anything more out of her on that, so he reluctantly let it drop. He didn't move his hands, instead just continuing the conversation. “His name's Sam Winchester; twenty-two, college student at Stanford. His older brother, Dean, came to me with the case.”

Meg's smile faded into a thoughtful frown. “Sam. Sammy. Hmm. Winchester rings a bell, actually, but don't know if it's from your case or something else. Anyway, so how do you know Azazel's involved?”

“He was there. Sam's girlfriend found sulfur at the scene, and when Dean arrived at their house, he saw Azazel watching from across the street, though he thankfully disappeared before he could go outside.”

Meg tilted her head in thought. “He lives with his girlfriend? How come she's still breathing, if demons were involved. We don't like witnesses, y'know.”

Cas nodded. “I know. And that's the strange thing – there was no sign of a struggle. According to her, Sam got up to check on noises downstairs, and never came back to bed. It was like he just...left.”

“Hmmm. Could be he was possessed, and the demon walked him out.” She mused aloud. “Or could be something ickier. This definitely sounds shifty.”

She grinned. “Fun fun fun. Looking forward to see where this goes. Promise you'll keep in touch?”

He nodded seriously. “Of course. You're my only contact who I can ask about demonic activity, Meg.”

She groaned. “Oh, come on, you know that's not what I meant! You can be such an idiot sometimes, you know that?”

He smiled slightly, hiding a chuckle, and she looked affronted. “You-- you were _joking!_ Clarence, you are not allowed to have a sense of humor. Stop it.”

She flicked his nose and he flinched, shaking his head a little. “Really, though. You'll keep in touch this time?” She asked, voice a little softer.

He swallowed. “Yes.” He replied, though he wasn't sure how much of that was a lie. “I will, Meg.”

“Good,” she said brightly. “And if things get hairy, come 'n get me. Things have been way too boring, and I wanna play.”

“I will, Meg.” He repeated, though this time with a hint of affection in his tone. He'd definitely missed her.

He stared down at her a moment, swallowing. “And...you'll call me as soon as you have more information for me?”

She nodded. “Obviously.”

There was a silence between them, neither looking away from the other, and on an impulse he was fairly certain angels weren't supposed to have (though that hadn't stopped him before), he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

Her arms were around his neck immediately, pulling him closer to her, and one of his hands dropped from her arms to her waist, the other going up to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her long black hair.

He reluctantly pulled away after a long (rather nice) moment, and she sighed, winking. “Ah, always feel so squeaky clean after that.” She teased, adjusting his tie. “I missed that.”

He smiled slightly, reaching up to wrap one of his hands around hers. “I missed that, too.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, don't get shmoopy on me, Clarence, I'll gag. Now shoo. Get going. I'll call you.”

He let go, turning to head for the door, but paused with his hand on the handle. “Meg, I--”

She waved him off. “Nooo. No we are not playing the serious relationship talk game. Out with you, Clarence. Things to do, people to call. _Go_.” She emphasized the last word in a way that Cas knew meant the conversation was over, and he sighed.

“Alright, Meg. It was....very nice seeing you again.”

“Same, same.” She said impatiently, though she winked at him. “Now move your handsome little angel booty.”

He ducked out of the apartment, face red, and hurried back down the hall. She certainly knew how to get under his skin. But it was nice, seeing her again. He really _had_ missed her.

It wasn't until he was back in his car, though, that he sank back into his seat with a moan of frustration, pressing his hands to his face. Why was it so _easy_ to get back into this? He'd been running away from it for centuries, since he'd first left Heaven, but every time it caught up to him, it felt like he was home, and each time it was harder and harder to leave it. This isn't what he'd wanted when he left. He'd wanted peace, wanted time to rest, wanted to be able to find what he'd lost. He hadn't wanted to fight anymore.

And yet, once again, he was involved in this kind of case, with demons and who knew what else, and it was as natural as breathing.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't hear his phone ringing, but managed to catch it, not recognizing the number.

“Hello?” He said, answering. “Cas Novak. Who's--”

“It's Dean.” The voice interrupted, and Cas immediately caught the edge in his tone, like someone reining in panic, trying to keep it together.

“Dean? What's wrong?” He asked, sitting straighter in the driver's seat.

“You friggin' tell me!” He yelled, and there was a crash in the back and what sounded like a gunshot. “There's-- shit, Cas, they've got black eyes!”

“What?!” Cas started the car, hitting the gas and tearing down the street a lot faster than the speed limit. Demons?! Attacking Dean-- that wasn't good. “Where are you?!”

“Bobby's-- the salvage yard!” There was a commotion, and static took the line, leaving Cas shouting Dean's name into the other end. Eventually there was a noise and the static faded.

“Dean!? Dean!” He called desperately. “Are you there?!”

“Dean ain't here right now, leave a message.” Came a voice from the other end, unfamiliar and vicious. “You better hurry, featherdick, 'cause we get bored easy.”

The call ended, and Cas threw his phone roughly onto the passenger seat.

Damn it, damn it, damn it. He had to hurry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For reference, this is Cas's car -- 1973 VW 1303, blue. His is more battered and old and scruffy than the one in the picture, though.
> 
> [Click the link here wooo.](http://media.tumblr.com/7333b79d25a7bcf5a78d0d88b05a9d04/tumblr_inline_mxcm6oJBsW1ryfzxe.jpg)


End file.
